


Holmes and Tyler

by McKat



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Before Rose meets the Doctor, Before Sherlock meets John, Community: wholockians, Crossover, F/M, wounded sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10154165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKat/pseuds/McKat
Summary: Rose Tyler has a normal (which is to say dull) life. Then she meets a bleeding Sherlock in a park.Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Doctor Who (pity)





	1. Meeting

**Rose**

Rose walked through the park. It was a lovely afternoon, even if it was a bit chilly. Rose was on her way to her flat from the shop where she worked. She'd chosen to walk instead of ride the bus since it was such a nice day. But for some reason, she wasn't paying much attention to the chirping birds or the leaves starting to change. Her mind was elsewhere. Where, though, was a mystery. Even to her. 

Rose had been having trouble focusing on, well, anything lately. She was an eighteen year old high school dropout that worked in a department store and lived with her mum. She loved her mum, but what she desperately wanted was excitement of some sort. The fact Jackie had gone on a trip to the US with some of her mates didn't help matters. On the bright side, she had the flat to herself. She loved Jackie, but she was one of those people best in small doses.

Rose was lost in thought for a while, absently running her fingers along bushes when she noticed the leaves were red. Dark red and sticky. _Blood_. The realization stopped her in her tracks. After a split second of panic, she looked around, seeing that there was an awful lot of blood. And underneath the bushes, almost invisible, was a hand. She tentatively checked the wrist for a pulse and was grateful when she found one. A weak one, but a pulse. She sighed in relief and pulled the person out and rolled him to his back. It was a man.

He seemed rather tall with light skin (granted, that could be due to blood loss), soft black hair in haphazard curls, and a thin face. He seemed familiar, but it was difficult to know if she'd seen him or not in his present state. She was glad, however, that the man was so slim, it made it easier for her to pull him out. She looked him over for the source of the blood and found a bullet wound on his upper arm. It wasn't fatal so his state of unconsciousness must have been due to shock, blood loss, or both. 

She started to pull off his blood soaked jacket when his eyes opened. She heard him make a noise and looked up to see him staring at her. He seemed to want to say something. 

"Shh, no, it's okay. I'm going to help, okay? Relax. I'm going to call for an ambulance." 

His eyes widened. "No... No hospital..." His voice came in short rasps and he coughed to clear his throat, pulling himself up. "I'm fine." His voice was still quiet but he sounded better. She still helped him sit up and let him lean against her. 

"Hate to break this to you mate, but you're definitely not fine."

He shook his head adamantly. "No hospital. They'll find me."

Rose knit her brow, confused. "'They'?"

"The people that did this to me," he said with a gesture to his arm.

She nodded thoughtfully. "Well I can't very well leave you here. I'll take you to my flat. It's not and there aren't any cameras."

He thought for a moment and nodded. "My landlord has locked the door."

She took this as an agreement and carefully helped him to his feet, letting him lean against her for support, stumbling for a second under his weight. He realized and, after clearing the black spots from his vision, he stood up with only an arm on her shoulder in case he needed any help. With the sun only minutes from setting, the pair made their way to the Powell Estate.

 

**Sherlock**

The detective woke up in a park in pain. He opened his eyes and saw the last rays of sun through trees and a girl kneeling beside him attempting to take off his jacket. She was young, blonde, brown eyes, right handed, shop worker, high school dropout, single, lived with her mother that was out on a trip. He sat up and saw the source of his pain: a bullet wound to his upper left arm. The girl realized he was awake and attempted to soothe him. As she mentioned an ambulance the events that led him there came back in a rush. The banker that did bookkeeping for a gang and sent a hit out for him. He shook his head and tested his voice, finding it somewhat rusty from the time in the cold without being used. He coughed and tried again, pleased it was stronger. 

After a moment they decided on her flat and she helped him stand. If it didn't take so much concentration not to black out during the rapid change in position, he'd have found it strange how naturally she made physical contact with him. No one did. Not Mycroft, not anyone from the Yard, no one did. But this girl did quite easily. If he had thought about it, he'd conclude it was because she didn't know who he was. 

He stood with the girl's help and she sagged under his weight. She was rather small and he automatically straightened up to take weight off of her. Another thing he would have found strange if he were thinking. They then left for her flat. 

They arrived after a few moments, barely beating the sunset. Sherlock was awkwardly positioned against a railing while Rose unlocked the door. Then she led him into the small space and to the couch. He sat on it and caught his breath as she ran back to a closet for a first aid kit, coming back after just a moment. 

"We're going to have to get your shirt off," she said and he noticed she was trying not to blush, and tried to fight off his own smirk. _Don't patronize the young girl_ , he thought. Then he immediately thought it was a strange thought. He never thought of other people's emotions. He decided it was the blood loss. 

He began to unbutton his shirt, having difficulties with the top ones because of the angle it involved holding his arm at, so she reached over and helped. She got the top and he got the bottom, they met just below the middle since she was able to go faster. They soon had it unbuttoned and she helped pull it off. Luckily he wasn't wearing an undershirt since he was in a rush that morning. He noticed she was making a point not to look at his bare torso as she cleaned the blood. 

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, by the way. I realized we haven't officially met." 

She smiled. "Rose Tyler. Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes." She didn't look up from her task as she spoke.

"Oh, no need to call me 'sir.' I'm not much older than you." 

"Alright then, Holmes."

He smiled, but it was quickly stopped as he hissed in pain. She'd been putting antiseptic on his wound and it stung. 

After he opened his eyes he realized he'd reflexively put his right hand on the hand she was using to apply the substance and squeezed. She didn't seem to think anything of it, it was apparently a normal reaction. He then realized she'd been speaking.

"... sorry, Holmes. Hurts like the Dickens that stuff does."

He shrugged his good shoulder. "It's alright. Lucky me I only got grazed. Nothing more serious than blood loss and probably a scar."

"So what happened?" He could tell she'd kept herself from asking as long as she could. He couldn't blame her for being curious.

"I'm a Consulting Detective. No you never have heard of the title," he said in response to her unspoken question, "because I invented it. I help the police and the occasional client. A few days ago I'd been asked to help on a case with a bank robbery. Turned out it was an inside job and a gang hit at the same time. The inside man learned I was too close and put a hit out on me. He almost got my heart, but barely missed. I made it to the park and hid before passing out. After that, well, you know the rest."

She'd been bandaging the wound as he told his story. "Well that's quite something."

"You don't believe me?"

"No no, I do. It's just..." She trailed off and thought for a few seconds on how best to word her thoughts. "My life is so... dull. And then I come across you and you talk about things like bank robberies and gang hits like they're just part of life and I just think it's remarkable how two people can have such different lives and then their paths end up crossing. It's ridiculous to think about, I know."

He shook his head. "Not at all. The odds of us meeting are astronomical. You usually take the bus, do you not? Walking home through the park was a rare occurrence. The fact you decided to the very day I was bleeding under a bush... Well the probability is overwhelmingly small."

She nodded along but froze. "How... How did you know I usually take the bus?"

"The same way I know you're right handed, that you dropped out of high school, that you live with your mother who happens to be away, that you work at a shop, that you're single, that you used to do gymnastics. It's why I'm so good at what I do. I see details most people don't and can use them to, well, figure out a person's life."

Her eyes had grown wide. He awaited the usual slap. Instead he got a pleasant surprise.

"That... that was impressive."

"'Impressive'?"

She nodded. "Can I try on you?"

He chuckled. "I don't see why not."

"You're right handed, based on the callouses on your right hand that are absent on your left. You don't have many friends, given that you seemed surprised by my helping you. You also don't have a girlfriend - or boyfriend," she amended, "from the way you react to contact. You're on your feet regularly considering that your shoes are worn."

He smiled at her. "That was pretty good."

"Thanks," she said smiling. Then she sat back and looked at her work. "How does the bandage feel?"

He experimentally moved his arm. "It works quite nicely." He winced as his hand went over his head. 

Rose hit herself in the face. "Pain killers! I knew I was forgetting something!" She ran to he bathroom and returned with a couple pills and a glass of water. "Here you are."

He took the medicine from her and downed them with the water. "Thank you."

She shrugged, embarrassed. "I should have remembered earlier. I'm sorry."

"Quite alright. You were rather preoccupied." As soon as he said it he was confused. _This is very much unlike me_ , he thought, _I would usually call her an idiot. Oh gosh, am I 'softening up'?_

He was interrupted from his thoughts as Rose sat on his right. "Are you alright, Holmes?"

"What? Oh, of course. Sorry."

"Are you sure? You look like you just saw someone with two heads."

"Oh." He mentally cursed himself for allowing his confusion to be so plain on his face. "Sorry, I'm just not acting at all like myself. I've not called you any demeaning names, I've actually comforted you and complimented you. Which is very much unlike me. I assume the blood loss has gotten to me and I'm simply delirious."

"Or maybe because I helped save your life you've subconsciously attached to me?" There was a smile to her voice and he looked to see her grinning. 

"I don't believe so, I would've survived alone."

She shook her head. "Sure thing, Holmes. Now, how about food? I'm hungry and you're looking hungry, understandably."

Before he could argue his stomach growled. He sighed. "I suppose."

"Chinese takeaway? There's a place that delivers and their lo mien is delicious."

He found himself smiling. "That sounds nice."

"Good. I'll order." She walked to the kitchen and he heard her dialing and ordering as he leaned back against the couch. There was something about the girl. He wasn't sure what. He supposed it was her potential. She was clearly brilliant. What a shame she was spending her days in a shop. He nodded to himself. That was it. He saw potential in her that he wished someone had seen in him before he decided to show everyone himself. He sat and waited for her to rejoin him.

 

**Rose**

After ordering dinner for herself and the detective, Rose went to the closet to get a blanket and pillow for him. She went back, arms laden with blankets, and saw him with his eyes closed, hands together under his chin, head leaned back against the wall. She stood in the doorway quietly for a moment, watching him. 

He was handsome, she decided. Handsome in a way that was all angles and planes. He may have been arrogant and rude, and apparently normally more so, but he seemed not to even realize it. She decided that no one took the time to understand him. If they did, he'd probably be different. She decided she'd take the time to figure this man out. She was startled from her thoughts by a knock at the door. Part of why she liked the place was that they were so quick, especially with the noodles she loved. She went into the living room and put the blankets on a chair before he could realize she'd been watching him, then answered the door and paid the delivery boy. When she went back to the living room with the bag, Sherlock had sat up and was watching the door waiting for her. 

"Here you are," she said, carrying them across to him and sat by him, starting her own.

 

 


	2. Chopsticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Rose have a nice, peaceful meal. Of course, that doesn't last.

**Sherlock**

As Rose ordered, Sherlock thought about his case. He knew it was an inside job, and that there was a gang involved. He had thought they figured he was dead, but something about that didn't quite seem right. He had turned it over in his head several times before there was a knock at the door. He opened his eyes and saw Rose walking in with blankets for him and a couple pillows. She put them down with a smile before going to the door and getting the order. She returned and handed him his as she sat down with her own. Sherlock nodded as way of gratitude and looked through the bag, increasingly confused.

"Where are the forks?"

"You use chopsticks." She handed him a paper sleeve with two wooden sticks in it.

He took it and eyed it curiously. "Chopsticks?"

"Have you never used them before?" He noticed a small smile at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm sure I have, but I have just removed the memory."

It was her turn to look confused. "What do you mean 'removed the memory'?"

"The way I see it, the brain is like an attic. You can put things in it, but eventually you run out of room. I only put important thing in my attic and if I decide something isn't of use, I delete it."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Kinda like a hard drive then."

He shrugged. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it. Actually I think I like that better..." He trailed off and shrugged. "The point is I must have removed - or deleted, however you want to put it - chopsticks from my memory."

"Well," she said laughing, "let's fix that."She put her own meal down and took out the chopsticks from the sleeve. "Hold your right hand out." He did as told, looking only mildly exasperated. She put one in his fingers. "Now hold this sort of like a pencil." She demonstrated with the other one in her own hand and he held it as she showed him. "Good." She then put the other on top and positioned his fingers. "Now you can move the top one up and down," she said after a moment.

He looked at the sticks and experimentally moved his hand the way she had shown him. "Well that's simple."

"Don't say that yet. You haven't tried to hold anything in them yet."

He rolled his eyes in an oh please sort of way and reached for his food. After three minutes of him trying to get the slippery noodles on the sticks long enough to maneuver them to his mouth, him failing quite spectacularly, and Rose laughing while being grateful for stain remover, he sighed. "So that is why I deleted chopsticks."

She shrugged, still smiling. "It's okay, Holmes. They take a while and noodles aren't the easiest things. I'll get you a fork."

She left and came back with a fork, finding him glaring at the sticks. She tried not to laugh. But failed.

He looked up at her. “What is so funny?”

She shook her head, still laughing. “You’re so smart but chopsticks just completely tick you off. I can’t help but find it funny.”

“Just give me the fork,” he said angrily.

She stopped laughing. “Sorry, it’s been a long day,” she said handing him the fork and sitting beside him.

“Yes, I suppose finding a bleeding man on your way home can be exhausting.”

“It definitely can. Especially when the man happens to be a handsome genius.”

Holmes looked up with a smirk at that. “‘Handsome,’ am I?”  
She shrugged, face reddening. “I mean I suppose you could be seen as handsome I suppose.”

“You see me as handsome?”

“So what if I do? You’re still insufferable.”

He chuckled. “I’ll give you that. But after all, what we view as beauty is in actuality symmetry of facial features, barring blemishes and such.”

She nodded. “Interesting.”

“Indeed. So therefore you would be considered ‘pretty’ I believe.”

“You believe? Do you not think I’m pretty Holmes?” She laughed a little as she teased him.

“Well I do but that doesn’t mean anything. You’re still…”

“Still what?”

“I’m thinking of a character flaw I’ve discovered. Give me a minute.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh.

**Rose**

  
Sherlock was definitely growing on Rose. He may be haughty, but he complimented her, in his own way. He seemed like a person that kept everyone at a distance. He seemed to start letting her closer, and she was glad.

“Trust me,” she told him after she laughed for a little bit, “there are many.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I just haven’t found them. And I am quite good at finding a person’s flaws.”

“Thanks. I think.” She was still smiling.

“Yes, that was a compliment.”

After a little while of companionable silence Rose spoke. “So do you have any ideas on your case?”

He shrugged, not looking up from his food. “Something doesn’t seem quite right.”

“And what would that be?”

“The lackey that shot me. Why didn’t he make certain I was dead? If he really looked he’d have found me. I’m not the best at hiding, especially while bleeding in a park. So why didn’t he finish the job? Unless he missed on purpose. But why would he do that? I’m working alone so if I was dead that’d be it for their problems.”

“Unless,” Rose spoke up when he stopped.

“Unless what?”

“Unless they didn’t know you were working alone. Hypothetically, if that were the case, what would happen?”

“Then the man that shot me would most likely wait for whoever I worked with to… Oh no.”

“What is it?” She tried to hide the panic in her voice.

“The man that shot me would watch the park and wait for my associate to find me and help me. Then he’d follow. And bring backup. We have to get out. Now.” He stood and blinked away the black spots in his vision. “I need a shirt.”

“Right, um…” She ran back to her room and came back a few minutes later with a sweatshirt. “Ex boyfriend. Never returned it. I think he was about your size.”

He nodded and pulled it on, wincing. Rose stepped forward and helped him pull it down over his torso.

“There you are,” she said nodding. “A bit big but it’ll do.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Holmes. Now where can we go?”

“I don’t know.” He put his hands in his hair as though he were pulling at it. “Come on come on come on… Oh!”

“What is it?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and she realized they were standing very close. He didn’t seem to notice. “I helped a woman one time. Her husband was on trial in Florida. She’s not far.”

“That sounds good. They won’t think to look there.” Sherlock’s hands were still on her shoulders. “Are we going to go?”

“Right, yes.” He started for the door when the lights went out.

“Um, Holmes? What are the odds that that’s a coincidence?”

“Um… None.”


	3. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a plan that backfires on them.

**Sherlock**

They found him. Idiot. Stupid, stupid Sherlock. Of  _course_ they were watching for someone helping him. Because he wasn't thinking, Rose was in danger.  _Stupid._

"Holmes?" Her voice snapped him out of it. "What's going on?"

"They're smoking us out. Causing chaos. I'll bet the whole block's power is out. People will go outside to see what's going on and it'll be easier to take us out."

Rose nodded. "So what do we do?"

"That's a very good question."

She sighed. "So glad I've got you," she mumbled. 

"I don't suppose you've got a gun around here."

"Closest thing to a weapon are a couple rackets from mum's badmiton phase a few months ago."

He shrugged. "Well it's better than nothing, I suppose." 

Rose left to grab them but was stopped by a knock at the door. "Power company," came the voice. 

"I'll get it," she said as she walked to the door. 

Sherlock sat and relaxed.  _It was just a coincidence,_ he thought.  _Stop freaking out._ He heard the door open.

_Wait, how on Earth could they have gotten here that fast?_

 

**Rose**

Rose was relieved.  _He is such a drama queen,_ she thought as she looked through the peephole. She saw two men, both tall and muscled, wearing button up shirts with a logo on them. One had brown hair and the other blond. She opened the door. "Hello?"

The blond one spoke. "We're here about the blackout. Are you J 20thackie Tyler?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm her daughter. Jackie is out of town."

The blond one nodded and spoke again. "Well can we come in and check some fuses? Routine stuff." 

Rose didn't know anything about electricity so she moved and opened the door for them to come in. She closed the door behind them. Before she could turn around, there was a hand on her mouth and a large arm around her waist, picking her up. "Don't try anything," said the brown haired one, "because my friend has a gun on you and will shoot you if he _thinks_ you're about to do something. Now where's the detective?" 

Before she could so much as think about what to do, she heard a loud noise and the grip on her loosened. She took her chance to kick backwards and found his knee with her feet. The man holding her dropped her and she ducked so the other one wouldn't be able to shoot her. She looked behind her and saw the blond one on the floor, unconscious. Sherlock was reaching for the gun on the floor a few inches from his hand, holding a fire poker. He picked the gun up and walked to the one that had held her. 

He smirked. "I heard you were looking for me. Here I am."

Before the man could reply, Sherlock had hit him with the stick and he fell, unconscious. Sherlock put the poker down and used the hand he'd held it in to  reach down and help Rose stand. 

"Are you alright?" 

She stood with his help. She looked up at him. "Was that line really necessary?"

He shrugged. "I found it witty."

"Of course you did," she said while rolling her eyes. She then realized she was still holding his hand and let go. "You're pretty handy with a poker. I forgot about it as a weapon."

He shrugged. "How are you with a gun?"

"Never used one."

"I'll hold onto it then."

"What do we do about these two? Call the police?"

"First we need to find out what we can."

 

**Sherlock**

Later he had tied the thugs up up using duct tape. They came to in dining room chairs with Sherlock sitting across from them. 

"Good, you're awake. Now, I need to know what your plan was."

The brown haired one chuckled. "Like we'd tell you squat."

Sherlock grinned maniacally. "Oh I certainly hoped you'd say that."

The thugs looked at each other, eyes wide. 

 

**Rose**

Rose was in the living room. It was silent in the dining room, then she heard screams, muffled as though through duct tape. After a little while, Sherlock came in and sat beside her on the couch. "They are the only ones that were sent. They have to call in to their boss in about twenty minutes to report the job being done, then they were to disappear for a little while."

She nodded. "So what do we do?" 

"In twenty minutes one of them is going to call their boss and say what theyre supposed to say. Then we'll call the police and I'll finish taking down their little gang. It'll be easier if they think I've been 'dealt with.'"

She simply nodded.

"Are you alright?"

"Honestly, Holmes? Not really. I know it's childish, but that was scary. I was at gunpoint. I should've known you'd do something, but still."

"It's understandable, Rose. I'd say you're not used to it, but if anyone ever 'gets used' to having a gun aimed at them then I certainly don't envy them their job. And you had no way of knowing I'd be able to help."

"Yes I did."

He looked confused. "Really? What?" 

She gave him a small smile and put her hand on his. "I know you." 

He looked down at their hands, smiling a little himself. "You're the only person that just... just touches me. Like its it's not a big deal."

"It's not, is it?"

"I don't know. But no one is ever comfortable around me."

"I am. Even if I get in danger because of it."

"That will happen, though. That  _has_ happened, Rose. I'm not worth it."

She looked at him and waited for him to meet her eyes. "Holmes, you're infuriating, stubborn, arrogant, and a hundred other adjectives along those lines. But you're also brilliant and kind and caring and funny and a  _thousand_ other adjectives along  _those_ lines. So don't think for a second you're not worth it. I wouldn't put my life in the line for just anyone."

They looked at each other for a while before he spoke. "Thank you."

Rose smiled and kissed his cheek. "They should make the call soon, right?"

Sherlock stood. "Right. Yes." He went to the dining room and stopped before walking in, turning to her. "Are you coming?"

"Wait, really?"

"Of course."

She smiled and followed him. Together they went into the dining room. She was shocked when she saw that they were...  _unharmed?_  She looked at Sherlock, confused. "Why were they screaming?"

She could've sworn he smirked. "I have my ways."

Rose wanted to ask, but decided not to. She sat down across from the table from the men as Sherlock took the tape off the blond man's hands and gave him a mobile phone.

The thug took the phone, clearing his throat as he dialed. 

"Mm-hm... Sir... The job has certainly been taken care of." He hung up and gave the phone back to Sherlock.

Rose noticed that the brown haired man's eyes had grown and now he was looking smug. She looked at Sherlock, who had apparently noticed as well. He looked at her. "We have to leave. Now." He reached for the poker and hit the blond man in the head again, knocking him out again before he knew what was happening. Then he hit the brown haired man as well. 

"Holmes? What's happening?" She hated the panic in her voice.

"That was a code. I should've known that they'd have one."

"Code? What?"

"Um... Think of it like a device with two passwords. One unlocks the device, the other one makes the device explode. We were hoping to unlock it..."

"But it's going to explode," she said, understanding.

"We should get out of here before it does."

She stood and grabbed her jacket, following him out into the night.


	4. Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock introduces Rose to an old friend.

**Sherlock**

Sherlock checked to make sure he had the gun before leading Rose outside. He knew she was trying not to panic, and she was doing well at it. “Can we call the police? Tell them there’s gonna be a gang here soon?”

“Good idea. First, let’s get out of here.” He took her hand and led her to Baker Street. Soon, they were knocking at the door of 221B.

It was opened and there was a woman hugging him before he knew what was happening. “Sherlock!”

“Oh, yes. Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Can we please do this inside?”

“You’re always in such a rush!” She pulled back and looked at him, and then saw Rose. “Hello there!”

Rose smiled at her. “Hello, I’m Rose Tyler.”

Mrs. Hudson grinned up at Sherlock. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mrs. Hudson.”

The woman just gave him a knowing smirk and looked at their hands. “Oh certainly not,” she said skeptically.

He flushed a little and let go of Rose’s hand. “Mrs. Hudson can we please go inside?”

“All right, all right!” She walked inside and let them in.

“Thank you. Can I use a phone?”

“Yes, there’s one upstairs.”

He nodded and ran up to call Scotland Yard.

  
**Rose**

  
“Oh you look tired, dear! Come on, I’ll put on some tea and you can sit.”

Rose nodded at Mrs. Hudson and followed her to the kitchen, sitting at a table. As she sat she realized just how tired she was. It had been a long afternoon. She couldn’t believe she’d just met Sherlock that afternoon. She found that she’d closed her eyes and opened them. Mrs. Hudson had been talking for a while.

“... interesting lad, he is. You know, he made sure my husband got the death sentence in Florida not long ago. I owe him after that…”

Rose smiled at the woman’s conversation with herself. She was a kind old girl, that much was clear. Rose knew she’d be safe here.

“So how long have you two been together?”

The question startled Rose from her thoughts.”I’m sorry, what?”

“You and Sherlock! How long have the two of you been together?”

“Holmes and I? Oh no, we’re not… No. We only met this afternoon.”

“Really? I would’ve bet longer, the way you were holding hands.”

Rose felt heat rise to her face. “That… That was nothing.”

“Oh I know that face.” She grinned. “It’s understandable. He’s a handsome young man.”

“Well it doesn’t matter. After he takes care of this gang we’ll never see each other again.”

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. “You never know.”

“Well is he capable of love?”

“I honestly don’t know. But you can certainly try to find out.”

Rose shook her head and took the tea Mrs. Hudson had finished and offered her. “Thank you. But I don’t think so.”

Mrs. Hudson was cut off by Sherlock coming downstairs. “The Yard is sending a few people…”

Rose looked up at him. “And?”

“In the morning.”

Rose groaned. “Didn’t you tell them it was important?”

“Yes, but everyone is panicking because of the blackout. They’re stretched completely thin.”

She groaned. “Wonderful. So what do we do until then?”

Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock his tea. “You two are going to get some sleep. Now drink your tea and then go upstairs. I have a spare room you can use.”

Rose looked at her. “You mean two rooms?”

“No, only one. The other room has boxes.”

“Do you have a couch?”

“No, it’s being cleaned.”

Rose looked at Sherlock, who looked as uncomfortable as she felt. “Mrs. Hudson…”

Mrs. Hudson made a show of looking at the clock. “Oh, I must get to bed. Good night, you two!”

Rose could’ve sworn the woman winked at her.

**Sherlock**

After Mrs. Hudson left, Sherlock looked at Rose. Her eyes were huge. He knew his probably were, as well.

“Um…” She began. “I guess I can sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rose. You’re exhausted. We’ll figure something out.”

She nodded and they finished their tea. He stood and started upstairs with her close behind. They went up the stairs and found the bedroom. He looked at it for a second, then left and returned with a blanket. Rose had sat on the bed and fallen onto the pillow, asleep.

He couldn’t help but smile and lifted her legs onto the bed, removing her shoes and covering her with the blanket he’d gotten. Then he went to the other side and took his own shoes off before lying down and covering up with the sheets already on the bed. He heard Rose stir and looked over.

She opened her eyes. “Hm…?”

“Go to sleep, Rose.”

She nodded. “G’night, Holmes.”

“Good night, Rose.”

They were both asleep within a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I tried to avoid the romance between Sherlock & Rose, but I can't help but think they'd be an awesome couple. Sorry not sorry.


	5. Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Rose can't sleep. Nothing like tea at three a.m to induce confessions, right?

**Rose**

Rose jerked awake in her sleep and sat straight up, panicking further as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. After a long few seconds, she remembered and relaxed, leaning back against the bed and staring up at the ceiling. She brushed a few strands of hair from her eyes and found that her forehead was damp with sweat.

"Rose?"

She must’ve woken Holmes. Crap. His voice was gruff and slurred slightly with sleep.

“Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He grunted. “Like that’ll happen.” He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp before turning to her and seeing her. “Good gosh, what happened to you?”

“Bad dream. It’s really nothing.” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, but she found herself wondering what color they were in the lamplight. She’d noticed they seemed to change between grey and green. _Stop it,_ she told herself. _It doesn’t matter what color his eyes are. Or that he’s so close. Or that he’s moving closer…_ With a shock she realized he’d rolled to his side and was very close. She still kept herself from looking at him. He’d probably read her mind through eye contact (she didn’t doubt he’d be able to do it) and see what she’d dreamt of.

“Rose?”

“Yes, Holmes?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Good night.” She focused on the ceiling. Nothing special about it. Just the fact that it wasn’t him.

“Rose.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “It was a nightmare. A stupid, stupid nightmare.”

“Tell me about it.”

She sighed, too exhausted to try and argue anymore with the insufferable man. “It was those men at my flat earlier today. They made me watch as they shot you and then they were going to shoot me.”

He was silent for a long moment. Just when she’d thought he had gone back to sleep he spoke. “It’s’ understandable, you know. You were put in a dangerous situation, the likes of which you’ve never been in. And since you tended to me, your instinct is to care for me and so seeing me hurt would understandably hurt you.”

She sighed. “You’re right. Now go to sleep.”

“I had a bad dream, as well.”

“Tell me about it,” she echoed him from a moment ago. Still not meeting his eyes.

“I don’t remember it that well. I automatically deleted it. I just remember… it scared me.”

She thought he was joking except she heard genuine fear in his voice. Against all her judgement, she rolled to her side and faced him.

Grey. His eyes were grey in the warm orange lighting. His curls were matted against his head, messy from rolling around in his sleep. His face was paler than she remembered it being before going to bed. _How can he_ possibly _be this handsome at this hour of the night_ she wondered. She then remembered the circumstances of their discussion.

“I’m sorry, Holmes.” Without thinking, she put her hand over his in a comforting gesture. He broke eye contact to look at their hands. She was afraid she’d overstepped a boundary, except that he almost looked relieved at the contact. She smiled. “You look exhausted.”

“Hmm, wonder why.”

 _There’s the sarcasm_. She smiled. “You should go to sleep.”

“Not so sure I’d be able to.”

“Tea?”

“Tea,” he agreed.

 

**Sherlock**

What was wrong with him? First a nightmare. Then admitting to fear. Now he found himself looking at her and thinking about how she was still beautiful, even having just woke up.

 _Get off it,_ he told himself. _You’ve just met her. So what if in the short time you’ve known each other she’s patched you up and you’ve saved her life… Oh goodness._ He swore to himself on his way to the kitchen.

She looked up at him. “You alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Fine.”

“Caught up in that head of yours?”

He smiled to himself. “You could say that.” He started going through the cabinets and started some tea as Rose sat at the kitchen table. He mused to himself about how easy it was. How perfectly synchronized they were. _Shared trauma_ , came the usual logical explanation. For once, he didn’t care what the logical explanation was.

“So you and Mrs. Hudson go back? She mentioned something about her husband in Florida. I’m sure that’s a story.”

“Oh, indeed. Just not one I think she’d want me to tell.”

She nodded, understanding. “I see.”

After a few minutes, the tea was done. He handed her a mug.

“Thanks.”

He smiled and sat beside her. If he were thinking he’d have noticed he’d taken the closest chair to her and was turned in it to be as close as he could without moving the chair itself. She didn’t seem to notice either. She’d angled her body towards him subconsciously.

“Are you attracted to me?”

She looked to almost choke on her tea. “I’m sorry, what?”

He realized with horror that he’d thought out loud. “No, nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He looked in his mug as though it knew what he should say.

“That wasn’t nothing, Holmes.”

“Yes, I know. I apologize.”

They sat in uneasy silence for several moments before she broke it. “If you must know, I am. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s nothing to do about it. You’re not even capable of feeling the same way, are you?”

He knew it was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. “I am. I… I do.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her look up at him with wide eyes. “Holmes... if you’re pulling my leg I swear…”

“I’m not.”

She stared at him longer.

“I know we just met and that it’s probably just the shock of the past few hours paired with-”

“Oh shut up.” She cut him off by leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. She pulled back and looked at him. He realized his mouth was still slightly open from his explanation. His eyes were also unfocused. He heard her laugh a little. “So _that’s_ how to shut you up.”

He cleared his throat and looked at her, having regained his poise.

“I…”

Okay, maybe not _entirely_..

She grinned, but it quickly changed into fear. “I’m sorry, should I have not… I just thought…”

He shook his head. “No, no it was fine. Better than fine, actually…”

They both looked at each other, not entirely sure what to say. Then he leaned forward and gently kissed her again, longer this time. He put his mug on the table and his hands found her hair. Lovely blonde hair. He felt her long fingers on his back, pulling him close.

They sat like that for a while before he remembered the necessity of air and they pulled away from each other a fraction. He felt her warm breath against his. Her hands still on his back. Her hair still between his fingers. His lips breaking into a grin.

Neither really knew what to say until he finally pulled back and drank the remaining bit of his tea and she followed suit. “Back to bed?” As soon as he said it he realized how it sounded. “I didn’t mean… Not like…”

She simply smiled. “I know what you mean. Come on.” She took his mug and placed them both in the sink before they walked together back to the bedroom.

He sat down on the side he’d been on and moved the covers so that they would be together under the sheets as opposed to her on top and him underneath. “If that’s okay,” he said.

“It’s fine.” She sat beside him and lay down on her side, facing him. He smiled and faced her, turning off the lamp.

They each reached for the other’s hand at the same time and fell back asleep.

 

**Rose**

When she woke, the sun was streaming through the windows onto the bed. She opened her eyes to a sleeping Sherlock and smiled, remembering the events of the previous night. She was happy. Completely happy. She didn’t remember feeling so happy for some time.

He wasn’t interested in anything aside from just being with her, it seemed. She’d run into her share of boys that didn’t care who you were as long as you were in a girl’s body. But Holmes wasn’t like that. He was fine with simply sleeping with her. He seemed to prefer it over _sleeping with her_ , actually.

She found herself smiling at the memory of kissing him. He was soft and gentle. Not rushing. Just… _there._ As though neither of them could find words any longer for the short yet strong bond between them and so resorted to the only thing they could. She knew she was over romanticizing the whole thing. But she couldn’t help it Once he woke he’d probably discard the whole thing as some experiment of one kind or another. Until then, she was going to enjoy the memory.

 

**Sherlock**

He woke up and saw her warm brown eyes first. He couldn’t help but smile. “Good morning, Rose.”

“Morning, Holmes.”

“What time is it?”

She looked behind him at the clock on the bedside table. “About six thirty.”

He nodded and sat up. “We should get to your flat. The Yard should be there by now.”

“Breakfast first.”

He was going to argue, but was cut off by his growling stomach. “Right. Mrs. Hudson makes good…” He trailed off. “Oh, Mrs. Hudson.”

Rose smirked. “I think she planned this.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. One of these days she’s going to make me move in with someone just so I’m not lonely, you mark my words.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I guess we’ll have to tell her that her genius plan worked.”

He smiled. “It did, didn’t it? Look at that.” He stood and walked back to the bathroom. He returned with his hair in some semblance of order. Rose had pulled her hair back with an elastic she’d found in her pocket.

“Let’s go meet Mrs. Matchmaker, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, bless you. I apologize for the mushiness of that chapter. Okay, I say I do. I personally am of the school of thought that fluff is wonderful. Anyways, please leave thoughts! (Just don't be rude, obviously)


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other characters' points of view.
> 
> Or: I'm as bad at writing fight scenes as I am at writing summaries.

**Mrs. Hudson**

Mrs. Hudson stood in the kitchen making breakfast. She knew Sherlock enjoyed her biscuits, even if he didn’t know it. He never paid much attention to what he ate. She checked the clock again. Six thirty. If she knew Sherlock, he’d be down soon. The woman saw more than he thought she did. She knew he was in the middle of a case and would want to get an early jump on it. Stopping to sleep was probably more his pretty young friend’s idea.

She pulled the biscuits out of the oven.  _ They’d be very good together. They seem natural. _ She smiled as she heard footsteps and laughter that was quickly hushed. 

“Good morning, you two.”

“Good morning,” the two said in unison. Rose’s eyes were on the fresh biscuits. 

“Those smell marvellous, Mrs. Hudson.”

The older woman grinned and looked at Sherlock. “Oh, I like her.”

He and Rose both blushed. Mrs. Huson didn’t seem to notice as she continued walking around the kitchen and getting jams and butter. “You two help yourselves. I’ve got to run some errands and I assume by the time I’m back you’ll both be gone. So Rose, dear, make sure he eats. You two be careful, please.”

Sherlock laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Mrs. Hudson gave Rose a knowing look and then grabbed her keys and left.

**Lestrade**

Detective Greg Lestrade was having a crap day.

To start, he had barely gotten any sleep the night before because of the panic after the power blink. 

Then they learned that it was sabotaged by a gang. 

To top it off, Sherlock Holmes had called with a tip and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Now he was finally getting to where Holmes had tipped them off. But he knew he was probably too late. He was with his partner, Sally Donovan, on their way to the flat that Sherlock had directed them to. Donovan looked as bad as he did. 

“Are you sure this bloke’s right? What’s his name, Home?”

“Holmes. And he’s always right. Learn that now.”

Donovan was young and had a good deal to learn. Lestrade was partnered with her because they knew he’d be the best to teach her. 

She scoffed. “It’s ten o’clock, anyway. There’s no way the gang hit is still there.”

“Well it’s worth a shot so shut up.” He couldn’t help the crankiness in his voice. He hadn’t had enough coffee to deal with her negativity. Granted, after the night he’d had, there probably wasn’t enough coffee in the northern hemisphere for that.

He looked around at the apartment complex.  _ What on Earth were you doing here?  _ he wondered.

They walked into the apartment they’d been told on the phone and stopped dead in their tracks. The flat was completely ransacked. They looked at each other and simultaneously drew their sidearms. Lestrade went to the back of the flat and Donovan started from the front. 

“Um, Lestrade? You may wanna see this.”

He walked in to what was apparently the dining room and saw six men unconscious, two tied to chairs. He looked up at her to tell her to call for backup and saw she was already dialing. He went back to finish his sweep. He entered a bedroom and found an unconscious Sherlock lying on top of the bedsheet beside a blonde girl, also unconscious. The girl was bleeding. 

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” He put his gun on the bedside table and ran over to wake him up and check the girl’s vitals. Sherlock sat up groggily and looked around. 

“Detective? What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that!”

Sherlock then saw the blonde girl and his eyes went wide. “Rose,” he breathed. “Oh no oh no oh no. Ambulance. Lestrade, we need an ambulance!”

“I know that! What happened? Who is this? Why are there half a dozen men unconscious in the dining room?!”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know  _ after Rose is in a hospital _ !”

Donovan, having evidently heard the screaming match, came in. “Oh gosh.”

“Sally, call-” Lestrade started but saw she was already on the phone. “...an ambulance,” he finished weakly and looked at the girl, Rose.

“Okay, gunshot wound to the abdomen. Pretty fresh judging by the blood.” He looked up at Sherlock, whom was the closest thing to panic he’d ever seen the younger man. “Sherlock, what happened?” He calmed his voice, knowing he needed to not panic him more. Then he saw he was bleeding, as well. “Sherlock!”

He looked down at his arm. “Oh. Must’ve started bleeding again.”

“ _ Again _ ? Sherlock, what the- what have you-” He sighed and looked at Donovan. “How much longer on that ambulance?!”

They heard sirens outside grow louder before stopping. She looked back at Lestrade. “Roughly a minute,” she said before going out to explain what she knew to the paramedics. Lestrade had been applying pressure to Rose’s wound when they came in and took over. He walked over to stand by Sherlock, but he was following. “Sherlock, you can’t go with-” he was cut off by a look that seemed to scream  _ freaking try me. _

Lestrade got where he was by knowing to put his foot down and being scared of nothing.

Until it came to Sherlock Holmes, in which case, he figured  _ screw it. _ “Fine. Maybe they can look at your arm, too.”

Sherlock nodded thanks and followed the small group to the ambulance.

Lestrade and Donovan went into the dining room to wait for the backup.


	7. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Rose's time together comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. 
> 
> I can be reached on tumblr at in-between-sleep-and-awake

**Sherlock**

He sat outside of surgery for what seemed like ages waiting for word on Rose. Detective Lestrade came in at some point and sat beside him, handing him a cup of tea. He barely noticed, being caught up in his own mind.

Rose. She was in there, fighting for life, and it was his fault. He shouldn’t have gotten her involved.

He became aware of Lestrade talking at some point.

“What were you saying?”

Lestrade smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “I asked if you were ready to tell us what happened, but clearly not. Who is that girl, anyways?”

“Rose Tyler. She helped me. I was bleeding out in a park and she was on her way home and saw me. She helped me. And in return, she had a gang after her.”

Lestrade nodded. “You love her.”

“What?”

Lestrade barked out a laugh. “It’s obvious, Sherlock. Come on, I’m not _entirely_ stupid. You love her.”

Sherlock looked down at his cup. “Maybe that’s why she’s in danger,” he whispered.

Lestrade sighed. “I know you didn’t just say that. Now here comes a doctor.”

Sherlock looked up at a small woman wearing scrubs and a hairnet, clearly just came from surgery.

She looked around and saw them. “Are you here with Ms. Tyler?”

Sherlock shot to his feet. “Yes, how is she?”

“It was touch-and-go, but she’ll be fine. Back on her feet in no time.”

He sighed in relief, but then saw her face. “What else?”

“She hit her head. She had a concussion and won’t remember anything of the past few days.”

The ground seemed to rise up and try to knock him over. After a second he realized that Lestrade was holding helping him balance by his shoulders. “Hey, Sherlock, what’s the problem?” his eyes were wide with fear.

“She won’t remember me. We met yesterday.”

Lestrade nodded, understanding. “Look, Sherlock, maybe this is best. The gang won’t be looking for her anymore if she can’t remember anything, right?”

Sherlock nodded. “You’re right… You’re right…” He sighed. “It’s safer. Because they have an inside man at the Yard. That’s why they didn’t send anyone. So if you put in your official report that she has no recollection, then she’ll be safe…”

Lestrade nodded. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock.”

****Rose**  
**

 

She woke up to a beeping machine in her ear. When she opened her eyes, there was a handsome older man looking out the window.

“Hello?”

He looked over at her. “Oh, good. You’re awake. Detective Lestrade, Scotland Yard.”

“Huh? What happened?” She looked around. “Why am I in the hospital?”

“Do you not remember anything?” He walked over and pulled a chair up beside her and sat.”You were hit by a car. The driver brought you here. You had a concussion, and a wound in your abdomen.”

She put her hand over her lower torso reflexively and realized she was bandaged.

“Don’t worry,” the detective continued, “the man that hit you is paying the bill. He’d like to speak to you, if that’s okay.”

She shrugged. “It was an accident, right? I’ll talk to him.”

The cop nodded and stood, walking to the door. As he left, another man came in. He was younger, not a good deal older than herself. He had curly black hair and light eyes. He looked like crap, but his face lit up when he saw her.

“You’re alright.”

She nodded. “So they tell me.”

“I’m so so sorry.”

“It was an accident, right? Thanks for bringing me to a hospital. And paying the bill.”

“Least I could do. I’m Sherlock Holmes, by the way.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

He looked kind of sad. “Please, call me Sherlock.”

Rose was kind of confused, but shrugged. “Okay, Sherlock.”

As she said the name, his face lit up. “Well I’ll let you get some rest. I’m very sorry.” He turned and left and she watched him go. _Strange man,_ she thought to herself before she started to fall asleep. _Handsome, though._

**Lestrade**

Sherlock left the room looking like complete crap.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

He was silenced with the shake of his head, black curls bouncing. “Mrs. Hudson knew a maid so I hired her to clean Rose’s flat. She will never know.” He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked strange in jeans and a baggy t shirt. He’d been wearing the jeans and Lestrade had had the spare shirt in his car. They knew Rose would recognize the sweatshirt he’d been wearing.

The detective nodded. “Good thinking.”

Sherlock simply nodded.

“You did the right thing. You know that, right?”

“I do. But the right thing isn’t always easy.” With that he turned and left the hospital, not looking back once.

Lestrade would never tell anyone, least of all Sherlock himself, but he saw a tear rolling down his face before he left.


End file.
